


The Price of Admission

by chellefic



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7831006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellefic/pseuds/chellefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan buys something for special for Methos, but Methos will only wear it if Duncan is willing to pay the price of admission.</p>
<p>Or the one with Methos in a camisole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Admission

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I owe a debt to Kamil. This story is far better for her input. I also owe a thank you to Olympia. She asked two fateful questions: "What color is it?" and "Is he wearing anything else?" This story is my attempt to answer those questions.

"What do you think of this one?" Duncan asked, holding up the catalog for Methos to see.

"No."

"Why not? It comes in a light green; it'd be perfect on you."

"No. If you want lingerie, call Amanda."

"But I don't want to see it on her, I want to see it on you."

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"Why won't you try it?"

"Why do you want me to?"

Duncan left his chair to kneel on the floor in front of Methos, who was sprawled on the couch. "The idea excites me."

Methos snorted. "As if there's a kink that doesn't."

"Rubber doesn't."

"That's a relief."

"And I never got the shoes thing."

"Good thing. I doubt I could find heels in my size."

Duncan grinned. "You'd be willing to try?"

Methos shook his head. "That was sarcasm, MacLeod."

"I was just teasing. You're getting way too sensitive."

"Gee, I wonder why. My lover wants to dress me up like some kind of mannequin."

"Not a mannequin, mannequins don't move."

"Oh, great. Now, I'm supposed to dance for you too."

"Only if you really want to."

Methos' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I never suspected you'd find a little piece of cloth such a threat to your masculinity."

"I am not threatened."

"Then why not do it?"

"You'll have to try harder than that to manipulate me."

"What about bribery?"

"What are you offering?"

"What would work?"

Methos paused, considering the question. "Order the damn thing, but when it gets here you better be prepared to pay."

Duncan sat back on his heels, grinning.

"Grin while you can, MacLeod."

 

Duncan signed the slip and eagerly accepted the package from the delivery man. Closing the door, he turned back into the barge and carried it to the counter. He began to cut through the packing tape.

"You sure that's yours?" Methos asked from the table where he was reading the paper.

Duncan glanced at the address. Mr. Adam Pierson. Putting the knife down, he tossed the package to Methos.

The other man caught it neatly, and grinned. "Thanks."

Duncan leaned against the counter. "So, what's in it?"

"You'll see."

"I thought we didn't keep secrets anymore."

"This isn't a secret; it's a surprise. There's a difference." Methos carried the package to the closet and placed it on the top shelf. "Don't you dare open it."

"Couldn't you at least have hidden it when I wasn't here?"

"Where would the fun be in that?"

"You have a twisted idea of fun."

Methos grinned. "I'll give you a hint. It's not green" Returning to the table, he resumed reading the paper.

 

Duncan checked the address before starting to open the package. This one was his. He looked at his watch. Still a couple of hours before Methos was due home. He glanced about the barge. He knew exactly what to do. Soft music, fresh flowers, expensive wine, candles everywhere, a classic seduction scene.

Methos would hate it.

Duncan picked up the phone. First, he'd call the florist, and then the liquor store. 

 

Methos stopped just inside the door to the barge. "I see the latest addition to my wardrobe has arrived."

Duncan grinned at him from the galley, where he was putting the finishing touches on dinner. "How'd you guess?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it was the overblown, and oh-so-original, MacLeod seduction scene." He glanced meaningfully at the candles glowing in every corner of the barge.

Duncan's grin broadened. "I knew you'd appreciate it."

Methos hung up his coat, removing his sword as he always did, and placing it on the couch.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"If I'm going to live at Immortal Central, then I'm going to have my sword handy. I didn't get to be five thousand years old by being stupid."

"So you've said." Duncan pointed the knife in Methos' direction as the other man walked into the galley. "I don't object to you keeping the sword handy. I object to you keeping it on the couch."

Methos wrapped his arms around Duncan's waist, pressing himself against the other man's back. "I don't want to fight."

"Really? I thought you considered it foreplay."

"Nope. That's spanking."

Duncan chuckled. "Who gets to spank whom?"

Methos kissed the side of his neck. "I spank you. You've got the perfect ass for it."

"Why, Methos, I think that may have been an actual compliment."

"Hmmm." Methos was too occupied with Duncan's neck to answer properly.

"So is spanking the price I'm going to have to pay?"

"No," Methos answered between kisses. "Been there, done that. Truth is, I didn't much care for it."

"Really?"

"Hmm. Besides why would I want to hit your ass, when I could do far more interesting things to it, with my hands, and my cock, and my mouth, and…other things."

"Other things?" Duncan was immediately suspicious. "What other things?"

"You'll see."

Duncan turned around. "What are you planning?"

"Dinner, and then a fashion show, apparently."

"Yes, but what's the price of admission?"

"Can't tell you that. You'll have to wait and find out." Methos kissed him slowly. "Trust me. You'll like it."

 

Methos leaned back in his chair. "So, where is this item I'm supposed to wear?"

Duncan shook his head. "You take all the fun out of things." He rose and retrieved a neatly wrapped box from the armoire. "Here."

Methos grinned. "Why, MacLeod, you shouldn't have." He raised the box to his ear and shook it. "Why, it sounds like silk."

"Just open it."

"I was merely trying to play my part, since you do seem to have cast me as the woman all of the sudden."

"I didn't cast you as the woman."

"You bought me lingerie."

"Yeah, but, that doesn't mean I see you as a woman, or want to. Trust me, Methos, I'm not about to forget you're male."

"What gives me away? The whiskers, the shoulders, the penis?"

"Your inability to talk about your feelings."

Methos snorted. "We've talked about feelings."

"Open the box."

Methos lifted out the camisole and held it up by the spaghetti straps. "Thought you said you were getting green."

"I changed my mind."

It was made of dark blue silk, trimmed top and bottom with lace in the same shade. "Well, I suppose I should put it on." Methos pushed back his chair, and carried his new piece of clothing into the bathroom.

Duncan rose and began clearing the dishes.

 

When Methos emerged he was still wearing his jeans, but he had put on the camisole. Duncan stopped his table clearing, dumping the plate in his hand into the sink. "Take off the jeans."

Looking him directly in the eye, Methos opened the button on his jeans, and carefully unzipped them. He pushed the denim down.

"Briefs, too."

Methos pushed them down as well. Stepping out of them, he stood. The camisole ended at his waist, exposing a semi-hard cock. It appeared the old guy found the scenario more appealing than he was willing to admit, or he was thinking about what he was going to do to Duncan. The thought made Duncan shiver slightly, and he went back to studying the man in front of him.

The camisole accentuated the muscles of Methos' chest, drawing the eye downward. The dark blue contrasted nicely with Methos' skin, making the flesh there all the more appealing. It stopped at his waist, and his legs appeared even longer than usual. Duncan walked slowly around him. His ass curved sweetly below the bottom of the camisole, practically gleaming in the candlelight.

Duncan remained behind him. "Very nice," he said softly, raising a hand to the side of Methos' neck. He stroked with his fingers, leaning close, breathing in Methos' scent, and then he leaned just a little bit closer, letting his lips brush flesh.

Methos inhaled sharply, and Duncan could feel his anticipation. He resumed stroking Methos' neck, erasing the kiss with his fingertips.

He lowered his mouth again. Firmer contact this time, a bit of suction. He slid one arm around Methos' waist, pulling the other man firmly against him. The other hand slid down Methos' chest, over the silk, to a nipple.

He moved his fingers back and forth slowly, caressing Methos with the soft fabric. He was rewarded when Methos leaned back into him with a low groan.

His mouth moved down Methos' neck to his shoulders, and his hand continued to explore. Soft silk brushed the firm muscles of Methos' abdomen, with Duncan's hand sliding tantalizingly lower.

Methos pushed against his hand, urging it to journey still lower.

"Not yet," Duncan whispered, capturing Methos' earlobe briefly, and raising the hand at Methos' waist to tease the other nipple.

He dropped both hands to Methos' waist, and moved his mouth to the back of Methos' neck. Methos' head fell forward as Duncan played with the flesh there, nipping and sucking. He eased lower, to the space between Methos' shoulders, and then lower still, until he encountered the camisole.

Stopping, he dropped to his knees.

Duncan resumed touching Methos through the silk, broad caresses of his chest and back. The entire time he sent his breath across Methos' ass, letting him know how close his mouth was.

Finally, he stopped moving his hands, returning them to Methos' waist. "I'm going to taste you now," he said softly, feeling Methos shudder in answer.

He leaned forward, slowly, building the anticipation. When he connected with Methos' flesh, it was just the barest touch with the tip of his tongue. He pulled back. "Tell me you want it."

"I want it," Methos answered without hesitation.

"Want what?"

"You. Your mouth on me, on my ass. I want it, Duncan."

Duncan extended his tongue again, probing at the space between Methos' buttocks. Using his hands, he parted the flesh, exposing more of the other man to his eyes and mouth.

A broad sweep this time. Another.

Methos was leaning as far forward as he could, trying to offer more of himself.

It was harder to maintain the position than Duncan would have liked. Relocate, and disturb the mood, or struggle with balance? Quickly, he decided. "Over the couch."

Methos walked to the couch, bending over the arm of it. Duncan followed him, inhaling at the sight of Methos spread out for him, legs spread and buttocks parted. The blue silk accentuated his vulnerability. "You are so fucking beautiful," Duncan murmured dropping to his knees.

He again took hold of Methos' hips. Too turned on to go slowly, he plunged his tongue into Methos' opening, pulling a gasp from the other man. He dove in again and again, wetting Methos as best he could.

He withdrew his tongue from the squirming body beneath him, and sucked on two of his fingers, coating them with saliva, then he pushed them into Methos, not roughly, but not slowly either.

"I love seeing you like this. Spread out for me, my fingers in your ass. It's so fucking exciting, Methos."

Methos only answer was to push back against Duncan's fingers.

Duncan pulled them out and stood. "Turn around. I need you to suck me."

Methos immediately dropped to his knees in front of Duncan, his mouth closing around Duncan's cock, and his hands going to Duncan's hips.

The sight of Methos on his knees, a dark blue spaghetti strap slipping down his shoulder, was almost as arousing as what he was doing, and Duncan struggled against the urge to simply give in.

"Wet enough?" he asked, sliding his hand under Methos' chin.

Methos met his gaze for an instant and then wordlessly rose and resumed his former position.

Duncan's entire being concentrated itself in his groin. He reached out a hand, touching a single buttock first with his fingertips, and then his whole hand.

He parted Methos' buttocks gently, and began to push inside. It was less lubrication than he was used to, and more friction. "Okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

Reassured, Duncan pushed forward once more. Methos' body was tight around him, constrictive even, but it felt good. He leaned over, pressing his chest to Methos' back, feeling the silk between them. "You are such a good fuck, Methos." He said the words quietly, his mouth directly behind his lover's ear.

Duncan brought his hands up, once again touching Methos through the camisole. He moved his hips just slightly, bumping Methos again and again, hitting his prostate with every movement.

He teased both nipples with his fingertips, increasing the length of his thrusts just slightly. He could feel shudders running through the man beneath him, feel Methos opening to him even more, relaxing around him. His entire body screamed for more, demanding that he plunge hard and fast into Methos. Duncan refused. He kept control, keeping his movements slow and small. "Ask."

"No."

Duncan slowed his movements still further, shortening them at the same time. He traced a nipple with a single finger, his touch far lighter than he knew Methos wanted.

"Bastard."

"Ask."

Methos shook his head, and Duncan stopped moving his hand. Instead, he brushed his lips along the back of Methos' neck.

"Mac."

"Ask."

The motions of Duncan's hips were almost non-existent now, just enough to remind Methos what he could have, if he would only ask.

"Fuck," Methos muttered.

"Yeah," Duncan said quietly, turning his head and resting it on the space between Methos' shoulder blades.

"Do it."

"Ask."

"Fuck."

"Said that already."

"Fuck me."

"Ask."

"Fuck me, please."

Duncan raised his head and whispered behind Methos' ear, "Say it like you mean it."

"Fuck me, Duncan, please."

Duncan slowly withdrew.

"Please."

He thrust back in, hard. Methos grunted. With the small amount of lubrication they'd used, he knew it had to sting.

"Again."

Duncan obeyed, pulling to the very edge of Methos' body before plunging back in.

Methos was clutching the edges of the couch. He'd stopped making noise, and Duncan knew he was completely focused now, focused on the cock inside him, focused on Duncan.

It shocked him, how much he got off on the contest between them, the constant struggle for power and control. He'd never been like this before, not even with other men. Duncan MacLeod was an affectionate and considerate lover; he prided himself on that fact. But with Methos making love became fucking, desire became lust, and giving became taking. It was addictive.

Duncan pounded into the body beneath him, taking his pleasure in the flesh tight about his own. He might have control of Methos at the moment, but he had no control over himself.

Methos was sliding a hand under himself, and Duncan intercepted it, his hand closing around Methos' wrist. "No. You'll come from my fucking, or not at all."

"Then you damn well better do it right."

Duncan altered the angle on his next thrust, increasing the pressure on Methos' prostate. "Good enough?"

"Shut up and do it."

Duncan didn't bother answering. He released Methos' wrist and took both of his hips in his hands. They made such a contrast, Methos' pale hips and his darker hands. He watched himself as he thrust, watched his cock disappear into Methos.

Methos was so open to him, open for him. It made him feel powerful and humble, all at the same time.

"Come for me, Methos."

"Touch me."

Duncan shook his head, even though Methos couldn't see it. "Just from this."

"Duncan," Methos protested.

"Just from this, Methos. Feel it. Feel me. Moving inside you. Taking you." He slowed his movements as he spoke. "It's so good inside you, so perfect. But I need you to come." He kept his movements steady and even. "Feel me, Methos. Feel us."

"Duncan."

"That's me, Methos. Inside you, filling you, claiming you. Can't you feel me?"

"Yes." Methos' voice was ragged.

"Is it good?"

"Yes," Methos panted. "Yes." Softer this time, almost inaudible. 

"Show me how good it is, Methos. Come for me. I can feel how close you are. Let go. Come."

"Dun—" Methos broke off as his orgasm began, his hips jerking in Duncan's hands, his entire body spasming. 

Duncan pulled Methos back against him, his own orgasm beginning.

 

"What do I have to do?" Duncan asked, trying to sound casual. They were nearly done with breakfast and Methos had barely said a word. He hadn't said much the night before, either, and Duncan was starting to fear that he might have gone too far.

"You'll see." Methos was reading the back of the cereal box, and he didn't bother to look up.

"Yes, but when?"

Methos glanced at him. "Anxious, are you?"

"A bit," Duncan conceded.

"Tonight then. Seven o'clock. We'll go out to dinner."

'Dinner,' Duncan thought, 'that's all Methos had planned?' Aloud, he said, "I'm paying, I assume."

"No, I will."

Duncan reached for his coffee. He was in such deep shit.

 

Duncan pulled on his pants, and tucked in his shirt.

"Very nice," Methos said from behind him. "Now take them off."

"Why?"

"Because I said to, and because it's time for you to pay."

"I thought we were going out to dinner."

"We are, after you take your pants off."

Duncan started to protest, but decided it wouldn't get him anywhere. He took his pants off, draping them across the corner of the bed.

"Briefs, too."

He removed those as well, and began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

"You can leave the shirt on. Now, go get my package, the one you were so anxious to open."

Duncan went to the closet and removed the box.

"Cut open the tape, and bring it to me. Don't look inside."

Duncan did as he was instructed.

"Now get me some lube, not the oil, something thicker."

Duncan took the KY from the nightstand and brought it to Methos.

"Would you like to see what's in the box?"

"Yes."

Methos opened it and took out a silver anal plug, about four inches in length. He held it by the base, turning it slowly. "Silicone, only the best for you."

"A butt plug. All this secrecy for a butt plug?"

"It's a very special plug," Methos said, grinning wickedly. "Now get on the bed."

Duncan sat on the bed.

"Don't be obtuse. You know what position I want you in."

Duncan shifted onto his hands and knees, and Methos knelt behind him. "You do have one sweet ass, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Methos caressed one buttock with his hand, while placing a series of kisses along the other.

Duncan held his breath, hoping Methos would move closer to his center, tongue him there. He loved it when his lover did that; Methos' tongue was like nothing else in the world. But the mouth withdrew and so did the fingers.

A moment later, lubed fingers probed his entrance. He opened easily to the familiar touch, but the fingers were again withdrawn, far more quickly than Duncan wanted. They were replaced with smooth silicone, pushed carefully inside him.

As soon as the plug was in place, Methos rose from the bed. "You can get dressed now."

It appeared that he'd been worried for nothing, Duncan thought. Then he glanced at Methos. Just wear a butt plug, it couldn't be that simple. He moved to the edge of the bed and began pulling on his pants. "That's it?"

Methos was tinkering with something in the box. "More or less." Duncan heard a snap, like a piece of plastic being slid into place. Methos looked up and smiled.

The smile was the only warning Duncan received. An instant later the vibrations began, approximately four inches inside him. "Methos!"

Methos broke into an ear splitting grin. "Yes?"

"It vibrates."

"Does it?"

"Turn it off."

"Why? Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Is it unpleasant?"

"Not really."

"So, I should turn it off, why?"

"How am I supposed to eat dinner with that thing vibrating inside me?"

"Carefully."

"Very funny."

"I'll turn it off. when you're eating. maybe," Methos said slowly. He smirked. "If you ask."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Please turn it off."

"But, Duncan." Methos approached the place where Duncan was sitting on the bed, and knelt over him, straddling his lap. "I just want to give you pleasure." Methos kissed the side of his neck, simultaneously sliding a hand down to squeeze Duncan's erection. "And it appears I succeeded."

"I didn't say it didn't feel good."

"Do as I tell you, and you'll feel very good. I promise," Methos said quietly. Then he stood. "Finish getting dressed, Duncan."

 

Dinner had been a sedate affair. Methos had been charming and witty, as only he could be, when he really wanted to. He'd left the vibrator off, although he had dropped his hand into his jacket pocket a couple of times, making Duncan tense in anticipation. Then he had smiled sweetly and gone on with the conversation.

Methos really could be a bastard.

The thought had recurred when Methos insisted they go to Le Blues Bar. The old man was going to make him have a conversation with a person whose job it was to study Duncan, while a butt plug vibrated inside him. But he'd gotten lucky. One of the bartenders was ill, and Joe had been too busy for extended conversation.

So it was that Duncan found himself smiling at the attractive woman seated next to him at the bar. Her name was Marie, and she ran the liquor store a couple of blocks from where Duncan kept the barge.

"I'm glad you enjoyed the wine," she said, smiling back.

"It was a good choice. Thank you for recommending it."

"You're welcome." She raised her glass to her lips, her eyes still on Duncan's face.

Duncan could feel another set of eyes, boring into the back of his head. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Methos had his hand in his jacket pocket, fingering the remote control, Duncan knew.

Methos didn't smile this time; he just turned it on, and Duncan closed his eyes as the vibrations began.

"Duncan, is something wrong?"

He opened his eyes. "No, not at all." He shifted from one buttock to the other, trying to give himself more room, but all he succeeded in doing was pressing the plug more tightly against his prostate. He dropped his arm across his lap in an effort to hide his growing erection.

"Your dinner went well, I hope?"

"What? The dinner." Images of the previous evening's activities danced across his mind, adding to his arousal. He took a quick drink of his beer. "It went fine."

"Lucky woman."

"Who?"

"Your dinner guest."

"I didn't have a guest. It was just Adam and I."

"Oh."

A familiar hand pressed into the center of his back, and Methos stepped close to his bar stool, close enough that Duncan could lean into him. He resisted the urge, but barely.

Methos smiled at Marie. "How are you this evening?"

"Fine. Yourself?" she answered flatly.

"Quite well. How about you, Duncan? Are you fine?" Methos' voice was knowing and seductive, and it made Duncan want to hit him.

"Since you mention it, I would like to go home."

"Already?" Methos raised a hand to his forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Duncan took hold of Methos' wrist and removed the hand from his forehead. "Take me home, Adam." He paused. "Please."

"All you had to do was ask."

Methos' hand slid into his pocket, and the vibrations ceased.

Duncan sighed with relief.

Methos gestured at the door. "Shall we?"

Duncan stood. "Nice to see you again, Marie."

She nodded. "Same here." Duncan was too distracted to notice the glare she directed at Adam's back.

 

"What is it with you?" Methos demanded as soon as they were in the car.

"What is what with me?" Duncan answered, off balance.

"The flirting. It's some sort of compulsion, isn't it?"

"Of course not."

"Duncan, I can count on the fingers of one hand the people with whom you don't flirt." He held up a single finger. "Joe." He held up a second finger. "Maurice."

"There are more people than that."

"Name them."

"I don't flirt with the post man or Father Robert."

"A civil servant and a priest." Methos held up two more fingers. "Still not a full hand."

"I never suspected you were the jealous type."

"I'm not. It just gets tiresome." Methos turned the key, and put the car in gear. They had driven a couple of blocks before he turned his attention back to Duncan. "But I have a suitable punishment in mind."

"I'm sure you do." Duncan wasn't convinced he deserved punishment, but whatever Methos devised was likely to be more pleasurable than anything else. He was fairly certain of that.

"Open your pants."

"In the car?"

Methos snorted. "Open them."

He had agreed to pay whatever price Methos required. Duncan opened them.

"Take out your cock."

Duncan pushed his briefs and pants out of the way. He was still partially erect from the bar, and the novelty of the situation and his own touch brought him fully erect again almost instantly. "You're lucky we're in the Citron. No way I'd do this in the T-bird."

"Why not?"

"It'd stain."

"That's assuming I let you come."

"You'll let me come. You want me to come. Knowing I'm doing it for you, touching myself for you, so you can hear me, and smell me, and steal glances when we pass under the street lights."

"Very good," Methos said approvingly. Then he hit the switch.

Duncan's hips rose from the seat as vibrations pounded his prostate over and over. Methos must have moved it to the highest setting, because these were far more intense than anything he'd felt thus far. "Fuck."

"Eventually. For now you need to settle down. Relax."

"Easy for you to say."

"Easy for you to say, too. It's only two syllables."

"Very funny."

Methos put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "Relax, Duncan. Stop fighting it, let the sensation take you."

Duncan knew he should be concerned that Methos was paying almost no attention to the road, but he couldn't focus enough. And he needed that hand on his shoulder.

"Touch yourself, Duncan. The way I touch you. Nice long strokes from the base to the head."

Duncan did as he was told, the touch soothing and distracting him from other, stronger sensations.

"That's it," Methos said, his low and sensual baritone sliding through Duncan. "Touch yourself for me, Duncan. You know it's what I want."

Duncan's head fell back against the seat. The vibrations were less overwhelming now that he had a counterpoint. He kept his strokes long and slow, and a little too light, even though his body screamed to be jerked hard and fast, just beneath the head. Long and light was exactly what Methos would do him, if Methos were touching him. Wanting to offer himself up to his lover, he did what Methos would do.

He liked this feeling of offering himself up to Methos, making a gift of his body, his desire, and letting Methos do with it as he pleased.

"What do you think about?" Methos asked quietly.

The words could have broken the spell. They almost did. Duncan flailed about, his hand coming to a stop as he wrestled with the prospect of answering.

"Can you not tell me, Duncan?"

There was such acceptance in that voice, acceptance of the limits on their intimacy, but there was hope, too. "I can tell you," Duncan answered.

He paused, and Methos waited.

"Sometimes, I think about you, about us. I imagine us kissing. It's different. It's honest, and unafraid." Duncan closed his eyes, thinking about those imaginary kisses. "And we touch, for a long time. We're naked, and holding each other, and we kiss and touch."

Duncan stopped. He could feel Methos waiting.

"There are different endings. Usually we just touch each other, or rub together, kissing the entire time. But sometimes you take me. We're on our sides and you hold me close and it's tender." He took a breath. "And loving."

His hand was still on his cock. Methos reached over and gently removed it.

"Pull up your pants, Duncan."

The vibrations stopped, and Duncan suddenly felt empty.

 

They were quiet the rest of the way home. When they entered the barge, Methos hung up both of their coats, after carefully making sure the swords were within easy reach of the bed.

He didn't bother turning on a light. He simply guided Duncan to the side of the bed, and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Exposing a shoulder, he bestowed a quick kiss there before pushing the shirt completely off.

Duncan wanted him to say something, to tell Duncan what it was he wanted, but Methos didn't say a word. Instead, he knelt and removed Duncan's socks and shoes. His pants followed.

Methos took a step back and quickly removed his own clothing.

They were standing beside the bed, both nude, and Duncan was confused. He hadn't a clue what Methos wanted from him. Methos touched his cheek, briefly, and then dropped his hand to brush Duncan's buttocks. "Get on the bed, and I'll take this out."

Duncan knelt, with his head on his forearms, and Methos gently removed the plug, placing it back in its box.

Methos knelt next to him, his hand resting in the center of Duncan's back. "Duncan," he said softly.

Duncan turned to look at him, and Methos shifted, lying on his side and reaching for Duncan. He responded to the unspoken request, settling onto his side as well. "Methos?"

Methos covered Duncan's lips with his fingertips, shaking his head slightly. He kissed Duncan then, a touch of lips to lips. Another kiss followed, undemanding and simple.

Duncan began to tremble.

Methos shifted closer, embracing him more tightly. The kiss deepened slowly, and Methos slid his tongue into Duncan's mouth. It didn't caress him, not really; it was just there, making its presence felt.

Duncan responded tentatively, touching his tongue to Methos'. Methos touched him back.

They had never kissed like this before, never bothered with asking. They had pushed and pulled, demanded and taken, but they had never asked.

Their lips parted, and Duncan drew back, searching Methos' face.

"Unafraid?" Methos whispered, reminding Duncan of how he had described their kisses in his fantasy.

"No."

"Me, neither."

He was afraid, Methos was afraid, probably a good sign they should stop. He'd bend over the couch, or some other hard surface, and all would be well again. Methos had never taken him on the table; that might work. "We don't have to."

"Yes, we do. If we don't…"

Duncan nodded his understanding. If they didn't they'd be stuck forever where they were. Not that where they were was bad, it just wasn't what he wanted, or, it seemed, what Methos wanted.

Methos started to touch him. His face, his neck, and, surprisingly, his ear, the outside of it traced with a single finger.

Duncan smiled.

Methos answered it with one of this own, and Duncan couldn't resist the impulse to kiss him again. In truth, he didn't try.

Methos welcomed the kiss, responding gently.

Duncan began to tremble, again.

"It's okay," Methos whispered, "I'm with you."

Duncan nodded, once, and re-initiated the kiss. He needed the contact.

Methos stroked him as they kissed, and Duncan began to touch as well, pleasure edging out the anxiety. Methos made a sound deep in his throat, almost a whimper. The sheer vulnerability in it shook Duncan, and he wanted to pull back, or push Methos onto his back and plunder his mouth, forcing Methos to respond in kind. That's what he wanted, something safe and familiar.

But it wasn't what he needed.

He broke the kiss, instead, and pulled Methos close, holding him.

Methos didn't question him, he simply held Duncan in return.

"It shouldn't be this hard," Duncan said, his voice barely audible.

"My cock, or yours?" Methos asked.

Duncan thrust his hips forward. "They are rather hard, aren't they?"

"Part of us knows how to do this." Methos shifted so that he could again see Duncan's face. "We're trying too hard."

"Yeah, maybe we are." Duncan rolled onto his back. Perhaps if they stopped trying, just let things happen. "So, what did you have planned for me?"

"I was going to have you come in the car."

"Told you so."

"And when we got back here I was going to make you give me a blow-job, on your knees, while we were both still dressed."

"That's hardly revenge."

Still on his side next to Duncan, Methos rested his head in his hand. "It wasn't about revenge, it was about pleasure, and there are few things as pleasurable as being fellated by Duncan MacLeod."

"Really?"

"Stop preening. You know you're good at it."

"I like doing it, like the way you taste, the way you feel in my mouth."

"That's why you're so good."

Duncan shook his head. "I don't think that's why. I think it's because," he took a quick breath, not quite believing he was going to say this, "I love you."

Methos chuckled.

Duncan's face fell.

Methos took Duncan's face in his hands, pressing kiss after kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry, Duncan. You surprised me. I wasn't expecting you to say it like that."

Duncan swallowed, then nodded.

"I know you love me. I've known for a long time."

"Since when?"

"I'm not sure of the exact moment. There wasn't an epiphany or anything. It was little things, like you leaving me the lion's share of the hot water."

"I was being considerate."

"Exactly."

"You were a guest."

"You continued to do it long after I ceased being a guest. Actually, you stopped for a while, and then you started doing it again."

"You're weird."

"I know." Methos grinned. "But you love me."

Duncan didn't answer. He ran his fingers up the center of Methos' spine.

"That tickles."

"I know." Duncan stopped moving his fingers, and Methos settled his head onto Duncan's shoulder. "So when are you going to tell me one of your fantasies about me?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, considering how well our attempt to act out yours worked."

"I like knowing you were willing to try."

"It was appealing, romantic, but appealing."

"I thought so," Duncan said.

"That's really what makes you hot?"

"Why wouldn't it? Not everything has to involve taking chances. Besides, I like vanilla. Sometimes," he added, before Methos could say anything snarky.

"I think you got it backward. What you described was taking chances."

"I suppose it was." Duncan wrapped his arms more tightly about Methos' shoulders, taking advantage of this opportunity to hold him. "You avoided the question."

"The question was when. So, how about a week from Tuesday?"

"How about now?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I need time to think some up."

"What?"

"I don't fantasize about you."

"What? Why?"

"It's one of my rules."

"Your rules?"

"There are some things I don't let myself do."

"And fantasizing about me is one of them?"

Methos nodded without lifting his head.

"Okay. Why?"

"It's dangerous."

"Dangerous," Duncan repeated, still a bit dumbfounded.

"You're…you're tempting, Duncan."

"I should hope so, since we're naked in bed together."

"I was afraid that if I let myself think about you, about being with you, that I would do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Fall in love." After a moment Methos added, "Except it didn't work."

"It didn't?" Duncan heard himself asking, wondering when he'd be able to put more than two words together again.

"It didn't. I fell in love with you anyway." Methos rose up onto an elbow, looking down at Duncan. "That's a moment I do remember. You painted my nose, and flashed that damned flirtatious smile of yours, and I was a goner. I think you should register it as a deadly weapon, that smile."

Duncan smiled.

"Stop that."

"But, Methos, I thought you liked my smile."

"Great, all I've done is feed your ego."

"Wait a minute. Why didn't you fantasize about me after that?"

"And make it worse?"

"What about now?"

"Now, I have you."

"So when I hear you in the shower, it's never me you're thinking about."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't. I said I didn't fantasize about you. Sometimes, I remember."

"Remember?"

"Hmmm." Methos kissed him lightly. "The night before, or the day before. I remember what your touch felt like, and the way you looked and sounded. I remember the taste of your lips, and your skin."

"Any favorite memories?"

"One or two. Last night may become one."

"Last night was good," Duncan agreed. "You were so beautiful."

"Why, MacLeod, you say the sweetest things," Methos said in a poor imitation of a Southern drawl.

Duncan chuckled, but he sobered quickly. "I remember the first time you were inside me, sometimes."

"I liked that night."

"I'm sure you did."

"Course I did. I was inside you, wasn't I?"

"Any other times you remember?"

"Joe's back room."

"We were a little out of control that day."

"More than a little. It's a good thing I don't have much of a gag reflex, and don't you dare apologize again."

"I won't."

"Good." Methos rested his head back on Duncan's shoulder, and yawned.

"Sleepy?"

"A little."

Duncan brushed his lips to Methos' temple. "Go to sleep."

"Okay."

Duncan was close to sleep himself when Methos spoke.

"We didn't have sex."

"No."

"Have we ever gone to sleep without fucking first?"

Duncan considered the question for a moment before answering. "I don't think so."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"We are so screwed."

"Yup. Good thing it's an activity we both enjoy."

Duncan chuckled, and pressed his cheek against Methos' hair. "Good-night."

"Good-night, Duncan."


End file.
